


'Twas the Night

by Squarepeg72



Series: Off the Pages [34]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Holidays, Miscarriage, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squarepeg72/pseuds/Squarepeg72
Summary: Hermione and Ron escape to Venice for the holidays. Can keeping a holiday tradition mend some of the hurt that comes with the holiday season?Warning: Story involves pregnancy loss/depression
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Off the Pages [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1074237
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2020





	'Twas the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Holiday Hideawy 202 in Hermione's Haven
> 
> Pairing: Hermione/Ron  
> City: Venice  
> Tradition: Reading "Twas the Night before Christmas
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/148170750@N07/50657925613/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

_'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house_   
_Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;_   
_The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,_   
_In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;_

Hermione looked over the canal as she ran a finger along the spine of the book she was holding. She still wasn’t sure why she had let Ron talk her into coming to Venice for the holidays instead of staying in London.

“Where were you just now, love?” Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione from behind. “I called for you and you didn’t answer. I was starting to worry.”

Hermione let her body relax into Ron’s hold. “Just thinking. This is not how I thought we would be spending this holiday.”

“I know, love.” Ron hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds;_   
_While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;_   
_And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,_   
_Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,_

Ron wiped the tears from her face and took the tattered book from Hermione. He had watched her fade over the last few months and he was hoping that spending the holidays away from their flat would make it a little easier. So far, it didn’t seem to be working.

“I’m sorry.” Her quiet whisper stopped Ron in his tracks. “I can’t seem to stop being sad. We should be celebrating another holiday with our family, but instead we are hiding from them in Venice.”

“We are not hiding.” Ron laid the book on a low table and returned to the sofa. “We are healing and finding our way. They understand.”

“Do they?” Hermione buried her face in her hands. “I don't, so why should they? Who wants to carry on family traditions when you don’t have a family?”

_When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,_   
_I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter._   
_Away to the window I flew like a flash,_   
_Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash._

Hermione ran from the room and Ron. He was treating her with kid gloves and it hurt more than if he was fighting with her. At least, if she was fighting, she was feeling something.

“What you are looking for isn’t in there,” Ron’s voice followed her as she ran towards the room where she had been sleeping. “I’m willingly to fight for you, but I am done fighting with you. It is not your fault or mine. It just happens.”

Hermione fell onto the bed and curled into a ball. “It is her fault and they can’t fix it. I thought the damage was over years ago. She is gone and she is going to haunt me forever.”

Ron laid on the bed and curled around her. This was something he could do, hold her together while she fell apart.

_The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,_   
_Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,_   
_When what to my wondering eyes did appear,_   
_But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,_

The book was waiting for them. Ron saw it sitting on the bed when he woke up in the middle of the night. She had her mum send it to them when they found out.

Ron looked at the clock on the wall before he shook her shoulder. “Love, wake up, We still have time to read the book before Christmas Eve is over. Maybe there is still a little magic left for us today.”

“Why carry on a tradition when there is no one to read it to?” Hermione’s voice sounded small as she stayed curled in a ball in Ron’s embrace. “Reading the story to the children on Christmas Eve doesn’t work if there aren’t any children. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Come on, love,” Ron sat up, pulling Hermione into his lap as he settled his back against the headboard. “I’ll read it to you and make a new tradition.”

_With a little old driver so lively and quick,_   
_I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick._   
_More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,_   
_And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:_

Hermione listened to Ron’s voice fill the room as he started to read the story. There was something soothing in the way he read the lines of the poem she had heard every Christmas Eve for as long as she could remember.

“Ron. stop.” Hermione lifted her head off Ron’s chest as he started to name the reindeer. “We are both supposed to read the story. I can do this.”

“As you wish, ‘Mione.” Ron turned the book so she could see where he had stopped. “Read for as long as you want.”

_"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!_   
_On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!_   
_To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!_   
_Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"_

Ron watched Hermione straighten from where she had been huddled in his lap. The longer she read, the stronger her voice became. It was like watching his wife come back to him, one word at a time.

“Christmas miracles come in many forms,” Ron whispered against Hermione’s curls as she continued to read. “Mum was right. Just a little magic of the season.”

“What was that, darling?” Hermione stopped reading when she heard Ron’s whisper. “What was Molly right about?”

“How magical you are.” Ron used a finger to tip up Hermione’s face and softly kiss her. “And how lucky I am.”

_As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,_   
_When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;_   
_So up to the housetop the coursers they flew_   
_With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—_

Hermione was stunned by just how soft Ron’s kiss had been. It was like he was afraid to break the spell between them. He hadn’t done that in a long time.

“I’m the lucky one.” Hermione watched a tear slide from Ron’s eye. “The magic one is you. Why do you keep waiting for me?”

“Because I cannot imagine being anywhere else.” Ron let Hermione wipe his silent tears from his cheeks. “I do believe it is my turn to read again.”

_And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof_   
_The prancing and pawing of each little hoof._   
_As I drew in my head, and was turning around,_   
_Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound._

Ron watched the words swim in front of him as he continued the story. It was a good thing he had memorized it years ago. He let his memory fill in the story that he actually could not see.

“Are you sure about finishing the story tonight?” Ron stopped his recitation to look closely at Hermione.”It is almost midnight and the story isn’t done.”

“Keep going.” Hermione ran a finger along Ron’s jaw. “It doesn’t matter when we finish it, just that we do. That is the magic of the story.”

_He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,_   
_And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;_   
_A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,_   
_And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack._

Hermione twirled her finger as she listened to Ron recite the story. She used a little magic to start the kettle to make tea while Ron pretended to read the story he had obviously memorized.

“Would you care for some tea?” Hermione asked the next time Ron stopped to take breath. “I think I could use some tea and a biscuit or two. Maybe add this to the tradition too.”

“Tea sounds brilliant.” Ron set the book down on the bed and stood. “I’ll bring the book and we can finish reading it in front of the fire in the sitting room.”

“Ronald, we are in Venice and it is not that cold.” Hermione giggled as Ron tugged her up from the bed. “Why would we need a fire?”

_His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!_   
_His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!_   
_His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,_   
_And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;_

Ron pulled his wand from his sleeve and flicked it around the room. Hermione was in the kitchen getting tea and biscuits. He had decided to redecorate the sitting room while he waited on her to return.

“Ronald Weasley, what have you done?” Hermione’s gasp let Ron know she had come back to the sitting room.

“Just a little bit of redecorating.” Ron shrugged as he looked around the room. “I thought I could make it feel a little more like Christmas if we were going to keep reading the story.”

“It definitely feels a little more like Christmas.” Hermione set the tray with tea and biscuits on the low table in the center of the room. “But, I don’t think a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace is part of traditional Christmas decorations.”

_The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,_   
_And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;_   
_He had a broad face and a little round belly_   
_That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly._

Hermione watched the lights from the tree twinkle in Ron’s eyes. She had not seen that playful look on his face since before everything. It was nice to see.

“Care to join me?” Ron patted the place beside him after he sat on the floor. “The pillows and blankets make it very comfortable. We have a story to finish and a new tradition to create.”

“I do believe it is my turn to read again.” Hermione handed Ron his mug as she sat beside him. “I’m not so sure you have been reading the last few verses right.”

_He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,_   
_And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;_   
_A wink of his eye and a twist of his head_   
_Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;_

Ron let Hermione settle back into his embrace as she continued to read the story. The Hermione he was holding reminded him of the witch he had married. Maybe, there was magic in this story.

“I have missed you,” Ron whispered as he nuzzled into her neck. “Hearing joy in your voice and seeing something besides sadness in your eyes. We have a lifetime of Christmases to build these traditions in. To build our family in.”

“I’m not sure we will ever grow our family in any tradition.” Hermione sighed and closed the book. “The healers said…”

“The healers said that losing this baby did not mean that we could not have another.” Ron kissed her cheek. “We will try again and see if the magic works this time. Besides, there is more than one way to grow a family.”

_He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,_   
_And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,_   
_And laying his finger aside of his nose,_   
_And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;_

Hermione closed the book and laid it on the floor beside her. This part of her tradition was done. They had read _Twas the Night Before Christmas_ on Christmas Eve. But, she was thinking about adding another part to the tradition.

“Love, what are you thinking?” Ron’s sapphire eyes searched hers as she turned to him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m better than all right.” Hermione straddled Ron’s lap before she leaned in to steal a kiss. “I think I’m ready to try some magic with you. It is Christmas Eve after all.”

Ron didn’t argue with his wife as she softly kissed him. He just enjoyed his wife taking the lead in taking back their happiness as the bells of St. Mark’s rang on Christmas Day.

_He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,_   
_And away they all flew like the down of a thistle._   
_But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—_   
_“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”_

**Author's Note:**

> 'Twas the Night Before Christmas (A Visit From St. Nicholas) by Clement Clarke Moore
> 
> All words from the poem appear in parenthesis in the story.


End file.
